Echoes of a Broken Boy....

Roses' scent lingers about the nightstand,

Sun rays glisten through the hole in the roof.

From the sunflowers lying about the kitchen island,

Each flower grown in the breeze of my hand, aloof.

Tend to scream in ebony, dried,

As if my air in the winter spree, the death of my truce.

Those eyes which, in my daily existence, I once did encounter.

Each smile wilting, each vibrant colour metamorphosed to gloom.

An embarked journey; parents traveled on the crooked road, crashed into crossroads.

All my sisters, like phantom birds, took flight.

Trauma prayed by the pastors, never meant to preach.

I keep wandering in the black market,

Searching for a soul as marred as mine.

My ears accustomed to whispers of death.

The guests of harmonies of only operas of Mozart.

It was nice for them to hear other birds screech for once.

The perpetual tremors of icy ground,

The empty darkness of the black hole screeching.

Heretofore, the eyes being sucked away.

The longing frivolity of humour chewing the soul within.

The kids playing at the cartel,

The women down the market,

The fishes down at the sea,

The macabre of smoked air inhaled.

Each of them has a counterpart in the shadows.

I slowly drift away from the light,

Detaching from peers I once loved the most.

The brisk nose of mine,

The blooded ears of my dog,

The plastic bag I keep in my cupboard just for completing a thought amongst my demons.

Three ballpoint pens kept; they tend not to leave marks.

Trust within, my friend,

To wear a mask as my face is suffocating.

It's supposedly a venture of bravery masked as poverty of security.

My mind has so much to see,

But my eyelids just shut on their own for free.

My teeth are the ones which do the crying,

Because my hand couldn't complete the deed.

What don't they comprehend?

All bleek melodies inscribed.

It's because that's all that's left of me.

Blue auroras in the darkened alley,

A knife shining in the back pocket.

I understand I am a failure.

I understand I will never be the first.

I understand my eyes are rubbed with ashen dust.

The notion of toiling diligently, only to end as the ultimate laggard, remains shrouded in silence.

Up to the brim of my glass,

The black water nearing its fall.

I wish it would be left hollow like my soul.

If I wear the plastic bag,

If I finally write on my wrists,

Would it all end better?

A place where none are prodigies,

None are useless utilities,

Just a perennial drive of homeostasis.

Slander up in the social world,

Head against the Italian marble,

Neon lights on the plastered walls above,

Little dots of the neon, believe they are my Orion,

Because my eyes don't deserve to see the stars shine.

Everything I do is marred by my hands.

If I swallow the flowers,

Would I feel beautiful?

If I play with my dog,

Would I feel secure?

If I suffocate my parents,

Would I fly bright?

If I kill myself,

Would I finally shine?

Through the grey clouds where once pigeons spread their wings,

A raven transcending gates of ordain midst the lunar eclipse.

Ten seconds left to crack the rocked ground.

I wish to finally land such a car in its broken limbs.

A head cracked open, bleeding blue.

Take four steps forward,

An eerie glimpse into the chaos my mind has wrought.

A wilted rose doesn't care about its shredded petals.

A broken boy won't care if he disappeared.

A line I had crossed long ago.

I am not broken, just a reflection I don't wish my eyes to see.

I am not alone, just a wretched soul in a family of wolves.

I am not sad, just drowned in tears of my mother.

I am not crying, just dying in front of a father who never learns.

On a call the other day with a friend,

The phrase being thrown off the protruding tongue out of my mouth:

"I don't care of this."

"Hardly ever worked for this."

But its teeth grip on my neck.

It's an Oxpecker sucking onto my intestines within.

It hurts to see their faces,

While mine sits smiling, vanishing.

A leg caught by a wolf, a hand torn by a wooden trench of a hometown mount.

I laugh it all off with the nails pierced into my stretching skin.

I long to depart with a soulful scream:

I do care.

I did put in the work.

My lens was nevertheless flawed.

My eyes fixated on a forbidden soul, a love I should never possess.

I threw hands into cults of Ben Drowned, costing a child's dignity.

I ended up being a boy with the focus of a prodigy,

Who never had the potential to complete his story.

I want to swim with the fishes.

I want to comb my hair with a wooden knife.

I wish to fly with the mockingjays.

I finally concede to the abyss, a fate of eternal nothingness.

With souls searching around me,

My hand keeps trembling.

Why does everything swerve off the road?

Why does everything start pouring down into my mouth?

I yearn for a void where my words may bespeak their mournful tales.

I am a kid after all, right?

Why can't my grandfather speak anymore?

Why can't my father let go of his vices?

Why can't my mother love herself anymore?

Why can't my sister call anymore?

Why can't I look for fishes ending up with the sharks?

Make it stop.

Stop, please, I beg of you.

Please just stop; I can't take it anymore.

Oh Jesus, please sway me away with the Earth's dust.

I believe I have a day left.

Already prepared the letters for Troy, Mia, Charlie, Amara, Lily.

Come to see me up the rooftop.

Let us have a nice lunch again.

Let us give each other roses once again.

Before I say hi to the plastic bag in my drawer.

Before I say hi to the Almighty up in the sky.